


Family Planning for the Force-Sensitive

by beautifultoastdream



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Domestic, F/M, Family, Fie on your BS sequels, Fluff, Gen, Gratuitous character development, Happy Ending, Pregnancy, Self-Doubt, Star Wards Legends, a bit of angst, reposting from elsewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifultoastdream/pseuds/beautifultoastdream
Summary: Two years after Exar Kun is defeated, Mara Jade and Luke Skywalker are married. Mara is uneasily settling into life as a Jedi trainee and as the New Republic's representative to the Smugglers' Alliance. But when Karrde's vornskrs have a strange reaction to her during a routine meeting, Mara learns that something else is about to happen ... And it scares her more than C'baoth.Slight AU from Star Wars Legends, fluff and angst.
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo, Mara Jade/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 42
Kudos: 56





	1. Family Friends

It was just like old times. Four disreputable smugglers meeting for drinks and illicit criminal talk, heads together as they laughed and traded stories.

Though one of the smugglers wasn't technically a smuggler at all, and one of the others had gone law-abiding to an unprecedented degree. Also, the meeting was taking place in a reception chamber at the former Imperial Palace on Coruscant, because the current leader of the New Republic seemed to think that that was the appropriate place for a rendezvous between representatives of the Smugglers' Alliance and one from the New Republic … who had, as previously mentioned, gone law-abiding. Somewhat unwillingly.

All right, it wasn't like old times at all, but that didn't mean that Mara Jade Skywalker was unhappy to see Karrde, Aves, and Ghent again.

Organa Solo had picked the chamber carefully. True, by palace standards it was barely a storage cupboard—meaning it had only one enormous window with a gorgeous view of the Coruscant skyscape, an inlaid tile floor in a mere three colors, and a not-quite-up-to-date holovid array. The Emperor, and the Senate before him, had not stinted themselves.

Still, it was sufficient for the purpose. Aves whistled, hands in his pockets, as he leaned back to get a good look at the polished inlays lining the ceiling.

“I know a guy on Meerun who'd get you a decent aftermarket value on all this,” he said. “Couple of prybars, a little laser cutting, in and out in ten minutes. What do you think, Mara? Thirty/seventy?”

“I think if you're going to crack the palace, you need to set your sights a little higher.” Mara sat down at the table, not bothering to wait for the others. Sharing cramped quarters for weeks on end had long ago ended any attempts at formality between herself and Talon Karrde's people, and even now that things were different, she still wasn't going to stand on ceremony any more than she absolutely had to. Even meeting them in the palace, rather than a cantina or someplace else comfortable, already had her on edge. “There's an art gallery up on the fourth level—Kundri sculptures and a nice piece of Haal'si'dan weaving. Supposed to have been destroyed in the war. Sell it as an excellent replica and you'll make a pile without leaving a document trail.”

Aves whistled again. “Haal'si'dan? I don't believe it.”

Mara cocked an eyebrow as she made herself comfortable. “Believe it. But don't ask for my help cracking the security. There's a pack of Jedi that would be sadly disappointed in me if I did.”

“A _pack_ of Jedi,” Karrde said. “Hmm. I never thought of Jedi as pack hunters. Though they do seem to prefer camouflage colors and ambush tactics.” Clearly, he remembered Myrkr as well as she did.

“They sure do,” Mara muttered, adjusting herself in the chair again. Years of knowing Luke Skywalker, not to mention more than a year of being married to him, and the son of a bitch could still surprise her. “And if I help Aves, they'll all complain about it. Envoys and Jedi aren't supposed to do things like that. Which reminds me—“ This with a small sigh “—as the official envoy of the New Republic to the Smugglers' Alliance, I, Mara Jade Skywalker, Jedi of the New Republic, declare these negotiations open. Comments about peace, felicity, goodwill, good of the galaxy, and so on.”

Karrde inclined his head. “I, Talon Karrde of the Smugglers' Alliance, respond. Comments about peace, felicity, good of our account balances, and so forth.”

“Noted. Glad that's done with.”

“You're a terrible envoy. I demand a replacement.”

“Denied.”

“Then I demand to speak to Chief Councilor Organa Solo herself.”

“She's in a meeting for the next year or so.” Mara steepled her fingers. She was beginning to get a sense of how to kill two sandrats with one blastpod. “However, there is another negotiator available—one with experience in smuggling. I'm sure General Solo would be willing to speak to—“

What was either a helpful suggestion or a threat (even Mara wasn't entirely sure) was cut off by the clatter of nails on tile and a pair of very familiar screeching cackles. All four of the humans turned to stare as the door burst open and Sturm and Drang, Karrde's pet vornskrs, came skidding into the room with a horribly flustered C-3PO staggering along behind them. One of the droid's arms was hanging by a few half-torn wires.

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” Threepio repeated as he tottered towards them. The vornskrs were already nuzzling at Karrde's hands, looking for treats. “I tried to do as you said, Mistress Mara, but they were extremely anxious to be part of the negotiations!”

Karrde turned back to Mara. “You said you were getting someone responsible to look after them.”

“I did,” Mara said, eyeing Threepio. “I sent them to Luke's astromech. That little trash can knows more about herding idiots and lunatics than anyone I've ever met.”

“My counterpart's talents were requisitioned by General Antilles half a standard hour previously,” Threepio informed them with just a touch of hauteur. “I was entrusted with the care of the animals in question. Following my protocols for domesticated pets, I attempted to lead them on a spirited constitutional.”

With a sigh, Mara motioned Threepio towards her. She didn't really care for droids much one way or the other. But in his bizarre, silly way, Threepio was an important part of Luke's life, and for Luke’s sake she wouldn’t leave the fussy droid crippled. Fortunately, old habits died hard: Mara rarely went anywhere without a small toolkit. She loosened the joints on the arm and began to reconnect Threepio's wrecked wires.

The vornskrs had finished investigating Karrde and discovered that, to their dismay, he did not seem to be carrying treats. This was usually the point where Drang would flop down at Karrde's feet and go to sleep while Sturm, who never relaxed if he could be doing his best stormtrooper impression, would assume an alert posture and eye everything in the immediate vicinity. But to Mara's surprise, they didn't.

Instead, the two beasts danced a little in place, whining. Drang pawed at his nose while Sturm shook his head rapidly, as if trying to clear water out of his ears. Then, making a noise like a purr pushed through a rusty grate, they flopped to their bellies and shuffled towards Mara, heads down. Perfectly submissive.

Mara almost dropped her wire cutters. She had nothing against the vornskrs (much less so than their wild cousins on Myrkr, that was for damned certain) but while Sturm and Drang were domesticated, they were only domesticated as far as vornskrs could be, which meant they didn't _always_ bite fingers off. And since they hunted through the Force, their reactions to her could be varying at best. She had never seen them, or any vornskr, do this. Her free hand instinctively inched towards her lightsaber.

Karrde was watching his pets with uncommonly wide eyes. He seemed to have temporarily lost the power of speech.

“I get it, Karrde,” Mara said. “You've been teaching them to play helpless, haven't you? Good trick.”

“I … no. No, I haven't.” Karrde shook his head too, for a moment uncommonly like his pets. “I. Well. Congratulations, I suppose.”

Mara frowned. “Sarcasm doesn't suit you.”

“I'm not being …” Karrde blinked. “You don't … Oh.”

As rare as it was to see the gregarious gambler and smuggler temporarily robbed of coherence, Mara had little patience for it. Life in the New Republic was full of incoherent babblers, and she was generally expected to make small talk with them at diplomatic functions. Karrde was supposed to be a break from all that, not more of the same. “Karrde,” she said as calmly as she could manage, “I would like an explanation now.”

Karrde still seemed overwhelmed, but rescue came from an unexpected source. Ghent, the gangly slicer, hadn't said one word beyond a mumbled “hi” before going to sit in the corner with his datapad; that was just how Ghent was and frankly, Mara hadn't been surprised at all. Now, though, he looked up from his datapad. “Oh,” he said, looking at the vornskrs. “I remember this. Are they supplicant?”

At that, Karrde seemed to shake off some of his daze. He glanced at Ghent, who was regarding him with the usual good-natured vagueness. “You forget to eat, but _that_ you remember?” he demanded. “I didn't even think you were listening!”

“You like to talk about vornskrs.” Ghent shrugged one narrow shoulder. “It's not a bad thing.”

“Council's still out on that,” Aves muttered.

“No, but this is unexpected, to say the least.” Karrde cleared his throat and looked back at Mara, who knew her impatience was showing on her face. “I used to talk to him when it was just us in the cockpit. Drang likes to sleep on his feet sometimes. What they're doing is something I've read about, but never seen. Didn't think I'd need to.”

He pointed to the vornskrs, who were practically nuzzling Mara's ankles. “That's an attitude the xenobiologists call 'supplicant.' Apparently, females of the species sometimes become subject to hormonal rages that make them dangerous to be around. As an evolutionary precaution, the males have the ingrained instinct to make themselves submissive to any breeding Force-sensitive female.”

“I'm not a damned vornskr, Karrde,” Mara said sharply. “I don't—“ Then her brain caught up. _“Breeding?”_

“I'd visit your medbay sooner rather than later,” Karrde offered. He took an involuntary half-step back at the look in Mara's eyes. “And I'd like it on record that one of the first things I did say was 'congratulations.'”


	2. Family Medicine

She'd read through the data card four times, and each time, it said the same thing. The same thing she didn't want to hear.

_Pregnant._

Mara dropped the datapad and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. It didn't help. Her calming exercises had already failed, and frankly, she was  so fucking scared that she was probably within a  shaved inch of turning to the Dark Side, but her heart was racing and her palms were clammy and  _she did not want to be pregnant._

At first, she'd dismissed Karrde's comments. The vornskrs  always acted strange around her.  U sually it was love or hate, but biza rre fawning didn't seem impossible.  So she'd shunted the thought aside and focused on her work, of which there was too damned much. (The New Republic was trying, but its understanding of criminal networks was shoddy at best.) 

Then she woke up feeling like her stomach was trying to crawl up her throat.

For eight days straight.

Mara had never  been fond of hospitals. Her earliest memories of medical treatment involved being patched up  after  a disastrous failure during one of the Emperor's training “exercises.”  The medics had been instructed to be thorough, but not tender:  young Mara Jade had to learn that she would not be coddled by anyone.  While New Republic medics usually handled her more gently, Mara was still of the opinion that if she could walk off an injury, she would.  But persistent nausea, vomiting, and—starting on the fifth day—vertigo w ere not only difficult to walk off, but playing hell with her Jedi exercises.  On day nine, she gave up and went to the medbay. 

She almost wished she hadn't. The medic handling her case had been sympathetic and could be trusted not to  let the details of her diagnosis leak, but it was only a matter of time before Mara would have to face facts. 

She was just over seven weeks pregnant. If nature had its way, she was going to have a baby. Reproduce. Spawn.  Create another human. In seven months, give or take, there would be a, a, a  _thing_ with her blood and  _Skywalker's._ Her damned  _baby._

Mara flung the datapad away. It rebounded from the window, struck a glass sitting on the table, and tumbled to the floor in a spray of clear shards. 

This wasn't supposed to happen. There was no room in Mara's life for a child. There was supposed to be no  _possibility_ of a child.  W hen she reached a certain age, the Imperial medics had implanted a microscopic  cleansing filter that prevented conception  and sexually-transmitted infection . ( T he Emperor's Hand  must not be incapacitated,  no matter what her missions might call upon her to do. )  At the time, she'd been told that the filter would last “as long as you do.” 

It could be removed, but she'd never seen the need. Why would she? She was patently unsuited to be a mother, she had no desire for children, and it was only recently that she had even acquired a regular lover—in the person of a husband who was often away for months at a time. These were not ideal conditions for raising offspring.

But when Dr. Javan had examined Mara that morning, she'd discovered that the implant had quietly died some months before. “I'm not surprised,” the doctor had said, examining the readout on her screen. “These models were good for a decade or two, but certainly not a lifetime.”

Which spoke volumes about how  long the Empire had expected  an Emperor's Hand to l ast .

But with this o ne last blow from her dead master, Mara's life was finally ruined.  Palpatine would have been so damned pleased. She staggered to her feet, ignoring the shards of glass crunching under her boots, and  bolted for the ‘ fresher .

“ Damn him,” she muttered. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she fell to her knees and hugged the lip of the  'fresher , struggling to breathe. “ Damn him. Damn  _Skywalker._ Damn—“ The words were cut off by another violent heave. How did she have anything left to vomit?  She'd swear she hadn't had anything but water, but—

Minutes later, the spasms finally began to die again. Mara rested her forehead against the cool metal of the 'fresher cabinet, too worn to do more than grimace weakly at the taste lingering in her mouth.

Damn Skywalker, indeed. This was all his fault.

Now that she thought on it, she could guess exactly when it had happened. Nearly eight weeks pregnant … That put it right around the time Luke  had to leave again. 

The Jedi Praxeum on Yavin 4 was something of a success. After the initial troubles caused by ghosts, Dark Side manipulations, and all those other wonderful things that seemed to keep intruding into their lives,  four of Luke's students had successfully attained the rank of Jedi Knight and begun recruiting and training others. Luke would spend  weeks at a time there, overseeing th ings and teaching the techniques the others had not yet even begun to master,  but sooner or later the New Republic would call for him and Luke would have to come running. 

The galaxy's lone Jedi Master was valuable not just as a skilled warrior and negotiator, but as a moral authority, and  the  Republic needed him more often than anyone on the Council liked to admit. But there would be no neglecting his responsibilities: while Luke's time at the Praxeum would be interrupted by calls from Coruscant, his time on Coruscant would be interrupted by calls from Yavin.  It had been one such call that sent him winging back to his students,  forcibly cutting short an interlude with his own wife.

Maybe that was why Old Republic Jedi didn't marry  or have children .  Their students were needy enough already. 

But that night … Mara's heart ached, just a little,  as she remembered it.  S he missed him when he was gone, and that night she'd let him know it.  They got little enough time together;  when he said he was being summoned by Cilghal and Kam Solusar,  she'd pulled him into their quarters and kissed him as hard as she could.

_“I really hate you sometimes, Skywalker,” she whispered. Her hands were wound into the fabric of his tunic, clutching harder than she would ever admit to herself. “You're so damned_ responsible.”

_“Mara, I …” He let out a groan. Frustration and sadness: Jedi were still human. “I need to be there to help them. That's what I promised, when I started this. If I had a choice, I'd stay here.” His lips feathered against her skin, tracing a line across her cheek to the corner of her mouth. His voice roughened as he tightened his grip on her. “With my wife.”_

_She kissed him again for that, hot and fierce. “If you have any meetings today, cancel them,” she said. “I want all of you for as long as I can.”_

Evidently, Luke Skywalker had left her with something besides good memories and aching muscles.

Mara groaned and sagged back against the  'fresher .  She was not prepared for this.

If everything went as planned and none of his students decided to blow up the Temple,  Luke would be home in a few more days. It was one reason she'd been delaying going to the medics since her diagnosis by Drs. Sturm and Drang:  s he'd been hoping the problem would solve itself before he came back, and she wouldn't have to tell him anything.  But that had been blown out the airlock, and Luke being Luke, he would sense that something was wrong the moment he came within fifty yards of her.

That left her with a dangerous decision, and not much time to make it. She was well within her rights to arrange a termination.  T he Republic's medical facilities  could handle it in a matter of minutes, and at this early stage, the discomfort would be minimal. She could do it right away, then run as many calming exercises as she could and have all the turmoil neatly tucked away deep in her mind before Luke ever returned.  Even if  one of the  medi cal personnel had a sudden attack of ethics and tried to tell  Luke what had happened, Mara was sure a generous application of credits and threats would keep them silent.

She should do it. She couldn't be a mother.  She didn't  _want_ to be a mother.  This was an accident, and as the Emperor had taught her, accidents were simply mistakes by another name. 

But … 

Mara tried, and failed, to find the maternal instinct that mothers-to-be were supposed to possess. The thing inside her, whatever it might become someday, was a parasitic clump of cells; so far, it hadn't elicited any more feelings than intense nausea. But Luke was—Luke was _hers,_ damn it, and she knew him so well that he filled her heart and made her ache for him when he was gone too long. She knew how much family meant to him. He'd lost his home, found and lost two mentors and a father, and finally rediscovered his sister. When Leia married Han, Luke had been beyond thrilled. Now he doted on Jacen, Jaina, and baby Anakin, and was already an expert at the traditional uncle's art of getting them good and riled up before handing them back to their parents. 

And while  Mara had the power to terminate  alone ,  she did have to admit that he was partially responsible for the whole mess. 

There was no getting around it. She loved  Luke Skywalker, blast him for it, and  because he'd wormed his way into her heart she couldn't bring herself to  keep something like this secret  from him.  Damn him. Damn him. Damn  _her._

She groaned as her stomach gave another heave. If she was in for another few weeks of this, sh e'd have to ask Organa Solo for some kind of Jedi anti-nausea  training . 


	3. Family Planning

Vader and Skywalker stood frozen, lightsaber blades crossed before the Emperor,  gazes locked . Then, with twin roars of hatred, they rounded on him and raised their  weapons together.  The Emperor stared past them both, his eyes  arrowing into Mara's, his will  an unstoppable wave pouring into her mind.

Then he raised a hand and, without turning his attention from Mara, swept Vader and Skywalker away. Vader collapsed against the wall, and the lights on his chest panel flickered and died. Skywalker was left sprawled on the floor, unmoving.

“Good,” the Emperor said softly to Mara. “Good. You have done as I commanded. You have killed Luke Skywalker.”

She couldn't say anything. Her tongue was nailed to the roof of her mouth. 

“ And you have brought me my prize.” The yellow eyes were burning into her soul. “ For I have foreseen that Skywalker will kneel before me. One Skywalker … or another.”

_That's not right,_ she wanted to say.  That had been the vision of the mad clone, Joruus C'baoth—but C'baoth was dead. The Emperor was dead. 

She looked down. A child was holding her hand. It was a nasty little specimen, face twisted up in terror, tears and snot trickling down to its chin. It wore only an oversized dirty tunic, and its feet were bare. Its hair was auburn, and for a moment Mara thought—with the strange certainty of dream logic—that this was herself as a child. But its eyes were unmistakably that crystalline Skywalker blue.

Emperor C'baoth beckoned. She dragged the child up the steps. It made no sound, didn't protest. Just kept whimpering silently.

“Mara,” a voice said. Skywalker. His corpse was still sprawled where it had fallen, head turned at a sickening angle, but its eyes were open and its voice was strangely soothing. “Mara. Wake up, Mara.”

She turned away. Her mission was done. She pushed the child into the Emperor's hands and knelt—

* * *

_“_ _Mara!”_

The dream broke. Gasping, she tumbled into consciousness, her pulse pounding in her ears. Someone was in the room, _on the bed,_ with her. She instinctively threw out an arm, and heard an “Oof!” as her elbow impacted flesh. In a flurry of brown robes, Luke Skywalker fell off the bed.

Mara bolted upright on the bed. Sweat dampened her hair, and her elbow ached where it had hit her husband in the solar plexus. The dream lingered at the edges of her brain, coloring everything around her. Yellow staring into her from the throne. Blue looking up at her from the floor.

“All right, I'm sorry I woke you up,” Luke said ruefully. His Jedi robe had gotten tangled around his legs when he fell, and it took him a moment to unwind himself from the cloth before he could sit up easily. “But it felt like you were having a bad dream. Are you all right?”

Mara took a deep breath, struggling to settle herself. Her heart was still racing. With another breath, she closed her eyes and focused, running through a quick calming pattern and trying to tuck her emotions and thoughts neatly back into herself. Luke's brow furrowed as he sensed her withdrawing, but he didn't say anything as she worked to complete the pattern. When she opened her eyes again, the world was a little steadier.

“You're back early,” she said at last. Luke had finished untangling himself, but he hadn't made a move to join her on the bed. Instead, he sat cross-legged, looking up at her where she sat on the edge of the mattress.

“We finished earlier than I thought,” he replied. “And I'm not complaining.”

She could feel the ebb and flow of his emotions, as familiar now as the feel of her clothing when she moved. He was glad to be back, but he'd come home to find her asleep in the middle of the day, having a violent nightmare. Now he was trying not to crowd her in the wake of that nightmare.

Or, maybe, in the wake of being violently knocked off the bed by his semiconscious wife. Wise man.

Her lips quirked a little at the thought, and she held out a hand to him. “You don't have to sit there.”

He caught her hand deftly and pressed a kiss to the underside of her wrist. Mara's pulse jumped again, this time for a very different reason. But she wouldn't be herself if she hadn't just cocked an eyebrow and said “Come on, you can do better than that.”

With a grin, he rose and pulled her to her feet. “I missed you,” he said simply.

Mara had erected a barrier in her mind, shielding her thoughts from him, but his were open and unshielded to her. She could feel the flow of emotion and thought in him, sparking and shifting around her as he kissed her. He _glowed_ in the Force: tired from the long flight and the endless demands placed on him by his duties, but all of it was overwhelmed by his relief and happiness at seeing her again. _Home, safe, Mara,_ all linked together in wordless emotion.

She started to reach out to him. It was instinctive these days, to crave a deeper connection with her husband—the union of minds, often hand-in-hand with the union of bodies, that warmed her to the core and made her feel like anything was possible.

She hated that feeling sometimes, too. Hated being led to think that anything _was_ possible, that she was more than a broken-down relic of a dead maniac. A relic who'd saved and married an assassination target, which perhaps counted as the most spectacular failure of a mission in galactic history.

But she'd married that target because she loved him, damn him, and so she reached out to him before she remembered the heavy secret in her mind and slammed her shields back into place.

Luke pulled back, eyes concerned. “Mara?” he said softly. “Is something wrong?”

She forced a smile. “Sorry. You know how it is … Bad dream lingering and all that.”

He didn't look convinced, and she couldn't exactly blame him. Time to face the rancor. With a groan of frustration, she pulled out of his arms and turned away.

“I've got news,” she said.

A prickle of worry ran through her sense of him. Even now, with her acting suspicious, he still wasn't shielding from her. Trusting.

“Bad news?” he said.

“Just news. Good or bad's still up in the air.” She crossed her arms over her stomach.

“Are you sick?” He reached out for her. Her back was still turned, but she knew he was doing it, just as she knew he would stop before he actually touched her. “I thought I sensed something different about—“

“I'm pregnant.”

That shut him up in more ways than one. It was as if the air froze around her, the currents of his thoughts and emotions going completely still. Mara had never felt anything like it from him, and for a moment, she wondered if she had broken him. “Luke—” she began, unsure of how the sentence was going to end.

Then his arms were around her again, and she found herself pulled back against his chest. His strength enveloped her, a sense of warmth and brightness and _glad_ and _fearful_ and _home, safe, Mara, family._

_Family._

“Mara,” he breathed. Just her name. He lowered his head, resting his face against her shoulder. _“_ _Mara.”_

_Family. Mara. Family. Mara._

“Ease off, Skywalker,” she said as best she could, but the words came out thin and awkward. It would have taken more strength than she possessed to push him away at that moment. She felt his shoulders shake as joy, suffused with a plaintive touch of grief for what would never be, washed through him.

He couldn't say anything besides her name because he was still half-stunned by the news, but the surge of his emotions might as well have been a dozen cards' worth of data. His father had never been a father to him until right at the end, his aunt and uncle were long gone and would never be able to share this with him, but now he was being given a chance to be a father to someone, to do it _right,_ and _Mara_ was the one giving him this chance—

She couldn't take it any more. With a grunt of exertion, she ripped herself out of his arms again and took three long steps back. “I said ease off!” she snapped with more anger than she meant. Luke didn't flinch, but his did step back himself, raising his hands instinctively as if trying to show a skittish animal he meant no harm. At least, that was the way Mara interpreted it, and it did nothing to cool her temper.

“What's wrong?” he said. “Is something the matter with … Mara, why are you shielding from me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe I just don't like having you in my head all the time, Skywalker.”

“Fair enough. But why are you angry? This is good news, isn't it?” Those striking blue eyes were confused and wary. And concerned. “Isn't it?”

“I don't know. Seems like you've already decided it is.” She turned her head away, unwilling to see the open hurt on his face.

This wasn't the way she'd meant to do it. Wait until they were face-to-face again, lead into the subject gradually, explain to him that she wasn't sure she was ready for children—that this was an accident, nothing more—

But the dream had ripped her plans to pieces. As Mara closed her eyes, she saw herself kneeling to Emperor C'baoth. _You have brought me my prize. One Skywalker, or another._

Something was growing inside her, and it was a Skywalker child. Tying her to this life. She had served the Emperor, and she had married a Jedi Master. Always part of someone else's story. Never truly free. Emperor's Hand. Skywalker's wife.

 _Don't be ridiculous,_ she told herself. _You spent years as a smuggler and pirate with perfect free will. You killed the clone and rebuilt yourself from the ground up. And when it was all over, you chose to marry him._

Her brain knew it. But her instincts were in revolt, and when her husband gently put a hand on her shoulder, she shook it off.

“Mara,” he said again. “Please. I can't help if you won't speak to me.”

“I—“ The words weren't coming easily. She swallowed and tried again. “This wasn't supposed to happen, Luke.”

“It wasn't on our to-do list today, certainly,” he said. There was a touch of wry humor in his tone along with the concern, and she simultaneously loved and resented him for it. Somehow, despite everything that he had been through, he could still be the same charming little sneak who encouraged tiny hideous assassins to call his brother-in-law _Han clan Solo_. It never seemed fair, that he could be that way. “But it's still … It's more than I hoped for. Mara, we can have a family. It's a miracle.”

“And that's a good thing?” she spat. “Look at what you've got already. A workaholic princess diplomat and her pet smuggler, a Wookiee with personal space issues, a couple of crazy droids, and the lingering memory of a family patriarch who terrorized the galaxy. And let's not forget the mother of this oh-so-wonderful child, who was Palpatine's assassin!”

“Mara, I don't—“

“Luke, if things had gone just an inch off course at any point, I would have killed you with a smile. I would have done everything I could to annihilate your Rebellion, and I'd have been happy!” She clenched her fists at her side. The words were coming fast and free now. “I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to be _alive._ Some days, I still don't know if there's an _I._ I'm not—“

She choked on a black-humored laugh, remembering a story that he had told her once, and waved a hand vaguely in his direction. “This isn't the woman you're looking for.”

Luke's face fell. He held out his hands again to her, as if seeking to embrace her, but Mara wasn't coming any closer. There were ten thousand reasons why none of this was a good idea, and none of them were matching up. She couldn't explain herself, she hated that she even wanted to explain herself, she hated that she was in this situation in the first place.

“Oh, to hell with it,” she growled. And she dropped her shields and let her thoughts spiral out to him.

Luke lurched back a step as the full force of her tangled emotions and terrified fury struck him. His eyes widened, and his hands dropped as he struggled to center himself again. Mara's fear, rage, confusion, resentment, and lingering tinge of inescapable shame had boiled together in the back of her mind, saturated in weeks' worth of nausea and bad dreams. Normally she hid her deepest thoughts and emotions, even from him: there was no need to waste the little time they had together on hashing out what Mara thought of as her own unacceptable fears.

Had she let her fear conquer her when those troops were invading the palace, trying to steal Organa Solo's twins? No. She hadn't. She pushed it aside and shot the bastards in the back. So she didn't let her fear conquer her, even when bad dreams mauled her subconscious and the creeping terror of _you are no one, you have no one, you have traded one master for another_ sang endlessly in the back of her mind. Now, though, she let them all out.

Luke might be a Jedi Master, but when it came to shielding her thoughts, Mara was more than his equal. Taking the shields down now was like uncapping a thermal detonator.

He breathed her name again, just once.

“Yeah,” she said hoarsely. “Some miracle.”

“Mara,” he whispered. And then she felt a soft, tentative touch: the brush of his mind against hers, reaching out to her through the mental storm she had let loose. She flinched, but the touch wasn't intrusive, merely questioning. Those brilliant blue eyes sought hers, silently begging her to let him reach out to her again.

And when she didn't pull away, Luke held out a hand again. Gently, he ran the edge of his thumb over the tensed line of her jaw.

She closed her eyes, despite herself. She couldn't meet his gaze any longer without wanting to scream, cry, shoot, lash out, do _something._

 _Mara,_ said his thoughts. _Please. Let me show you something._

She half expected pleas or arguments, but he said nothing more, not even in his thoughts. Instead, the mental touch curled softly around her, and she found herself in the memories of Luke Skywalker.

Myrkr. A strange, sharp-edged woman, with flame-colored hair and a stare that arrows right through him. She hates him for some reason, but won't let him fall into Imperial hands. Determined and clever, though he'll never quite live down that allergic reaction.

Jomark. The war against Thrawn intensifies, and she wants no part of it. Her loyalty to another brings her to him, sworn enemy and destroyer of her life, for help in saving Talon Karrde. He feels the rush of free will returning to him as he steps into her ysalamir bubble, and chooses to stand with her against a Jedi Master. A good ally.

 _Chimaera._ A moment of fear when he feels the compactor sides close around him. She can crush him at any moment. But her friendships mean more to her than the Emperor's command, and Karrde is soon safe.

 _Katana._ A strike, swift and merciless. Never hesitating to do what's right, even if it seems impossible. Even when she swears it's for nothing but money. She runs her Z-95 up against a Star Destroyer. Standing there on the deck of the tomb that is the _Katana,_ he feels a surge of terror. She can't die. Not now. Not this way.

Coruscant. His sister's news, seeing the story unfold directly from her memories. Mara's ploy. The children of a Rebellion leader, the niece and nephew of the man she is sworn to kill—but she will not let C'baoth have them. She saves their lives and permits herself to be caged afterwards, though he knows how much it must infuriate her. She will not let C'baoth win. She will not let Thrawn win.

Wayland. The first true, deeper brushes of mind against mind. Feeling her nightmares, hearing the voice that commands her to kill him. Certainty despite all of it: certainty in her strength, her judgment, her white-knuckled determination.

The throne room. She saves him and his family, and kills a man with his face. She is free. She crumples in relief, and for a moment so brief he barely registers it, he wishes he could hold her the way Han holds Leia.

And then the rooftop, with a brush of hand against hand and his father's lightsaber given into her care, and so many other times he can't count them. Moments when he looks at her, watches her actions, hears her words, and feels his admiration grow. The woman who once swore to kill him is prickly, stubborn, angry, violent, and desperately damaged, and that would all mean something if she wasn't also brave, intelligent, cool under fire, and loyal with a teeth-clenched certainty that touches the very center of her being. She protects those that can't protect themselves (swearing the whole time it's just for profit), refuses to spend life needlessly, cherishes her friends, stands strong against the Dark Side. Her hand is warm in his. When she gives him that sarcastic quirk of the lips, he knows she has enough left in her to put on a facade, and that reassures him of her steadfastness. When the mask drops and she lets him see her real smile, surprisingly broad and gleeful and _free,_ his heart stutters in his chest and he's torn between pulling her into his arms and standing back to watch her take on the universe.

Memories, all of them. Not stray thoughts or beautiful illusions or psychic compulsion. Just memories. Mara's life, Mara's deeds, seen through Luke's eyes.

Her gut was twisted into knots.

“Kreff,” she whispered.

Then she bolted for the 'fresher and the moment was lost to another surge of nausea. Morning sickness, her ass.

Luke knelt beside her, tucking her hair back and rubbing soothing circles into her back. When the cramps eased and she leaned against the side of the 'fresher again, panting and sweating, he kissed the top of her head. No more words, or even memories, passed between them. She could feel the love he had for her, a soft warmth that curled around her, but it lingered on the edges and did not intrude. Her thoughts and fears were her own.

He would never try to make her carry a child. If Mara chose to end this now … So be it. Though it pained him, he had seen what plagued her thoughts, and he would understand.

But he wanted this, and he wanted her to be a part of it. She could sense it if she reached for it. Not just the longing for a child of his own, but to see a child that was _hers._ There had never been any doubts in his mind that Mara Jade could do anything she put her mind to.

(And deep in his mind and heart and memories, she saw that she was still _Mara Jade_ to him. Mara Jade, who didn't need a tacked-on Skywalker to show her worth.)

She sucked in a deep breath, focusing herself. Slowly, her pulse began to drop and her thoughts calm. She found a pattern and held it in her mind, rebuilding a thin layer of the shields she had demolished so violently earlier.

“I didn't get sick on your robe, did I?” she said finally.

“It'll wash out.”

“So I did.”

“I'd call this extenuating circumstances, Mara.”

She huffed out another breath, the closest she could come to a laugh. “Eight weeks,” she murmured. “Eight damn weeks old, and this thing is already taking after you.”

“I thought I only gave you a headache.”

“I'm counting the month of _Katana_ coma.” She relaxed a little, leaning back into his touch again. “You were why I was there, after all. You and your Rebellion and ideals.” After a moment, she let out another soft huff. “And that TIE flight suit on board the _Chimaera.”_

“You mean the one that didn't fit? Why the sudden interest in my clothes, anyway?”

“The one that fit too closely in all the right places.” Mara tilted her head a little, grinning up at him. The grin was weak and not entirely honest, but there was a spark of something in her chest. “And I can't help it, Luke. If I'm in for months of misery because of you, then you better believe I'm going to be taking it out of you occasionally.”

She felt the simultaneous surges: the leap of his pulse and the spike in his emotions. “You mean,” he began, and stopped. “Mara, are we …?”

She closed her eyes and let her head sag back onto his shoulder. “Congratulations,” she said. “It's a Skywalker. Sorry about your robe.”


	4. Family Announcement

The New Republic expected Jedi Master Skywalker to return to work the moment he was back on Coruscant, but Luke canceled his appointments for the next three days. “Jedi business,” was the only explanation he gave. Then he went into the bedroom.

Mara was already curled up there, freshly showered after her latest bout with morning sickness and finishing off a cup of tart juice. Luke had dropped his worse-for-wear robe in the laundry chute and changed into a comfortable pair of trousers and a light tunic, good for sitting up with one's nauseous wife. He was probably intending to be chivalrous and look after her, but Mara shifted to make room for him on the bed instead.

“C'mere,” she said. “I'm done vomiting on you for the day.”

“You always know what to say to me, Jade,” he said, pulling a grin from her. He settled back onto the bed, and she shifted closer, resting her head on his shoulder and draping one arm over his chest.

“That's better,” she said. Her voice was half-muffled by the cloth of his tunic, but she didn't particularly care. Now that the nausea had passed, she could feel the equally familiar vertigo and tiredness weighing her down, and relaxing on a warm Jedi had its appeal. “Did the Council object to you suddenly canceling everything?”

“Of course.” Luke carded the fingers of his mechanical hand through her hair, an oddly soothing sensation. “But they didn't expect me back so soon, so they hadn't dropped much on me yet. I haven't destroyed more than three or four delicate diplomatic negotiations.”

“Mmm. If the negotiations were that delicate, they were probably doomed anyway.”

“I agree, but you didn't hear me say it.”

“Of course not.” She grinned into his tunic. “Can't have a hero of the New Republic expressing an individual opinion. What would the galaxy think?”

“With any luck, they would think 'He's in the middle of rebuilding the Jedi Order, nobody _really_ needs him to weigh in on our argument over Jaoon antique trafficking.” He tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. One finger briefly traced the edge of the lobe, making her skin tingle just a little. She hummed into his chest, which drew a laugh from him. “You're like a well-fed vornskr. Purring now?”

“Go to hell, Skywalker,” she said fondly. After weeks of sickness, nerves, and nightmares, Mara finally had some peace, and she was damned tired. She could make all the noises she wanted.

Peace, thanks to a decision she hadn't been certain she would even make.

Peace, and the knowledge that she was going to be a mother.

Her stomach gave another lurch at the thought, but she swallowed it. Her limbs were heavy with fatigue, and after the emotional upheaval of the last few hours—days— _weeks,_ a few moments of relaxation were exactly what the doctor ordered. There would be enough time to be afraid later; for now, she was exhausted, and with Luke beside her she knew she wouldn't struggle so much with nightmares.

A thread of amusement twined through her sleepy thoughts. It would have been so easy to be furious at that idea, and another time, she might have been. Mara Jade didn't need a damned man to coddle her and chase the bad dreams away. But a man willing to watch her back while she caught a few hours of down time and prepped for an upcoming challenge? That, she could live with.

With a yawn, she nestled closer, enjoying Luke's warmth. His wordless affection rested lightly against her mind, not intruding, merely present for her to acknowledge or dismiss. His right hand pressed careful circles into her temple, massaging away some of the tension gathered there.

“Luke.” The word was split by another yawn. “Talked to your sister yet?”

“No.” He kept up the soft pressure, guided by her encouraging murmurs and the way she leaned into his touch. “I'm sure she knows I'm back, but I'd barely touched down when I sensed you having that nightmare. I wanted to make sure you were all right first.”

“Getting some practice with that protective instinct, huh.”

A small chuckle. “You spent so much time dragging me out of danger. How could I pass up the opportunity to turn the tables on you?”

“Sly bastard.” Her eyes were drifting closed. “Look. About your sister … Don't tell her. Not yet.” About what, she didn't need to say. “I still need to think a little. Get my head around it. When I'm ready, I'll tell her myself.”

“Take as long as you need.”

He meant it. He wanted this—desperately—but he could clearly see how conflicted she still was, and he could probably guess that immediately sharing the news with his family was one of the best ways to make Mara skittish. She liked the Solos well enough, and certainly enjoyed the company of the children, but she had never been entirely comfortable with the personas and history that came with them all. Marrying Luke had been difficult enough: she wanted Luke Skywalker, dammit, not the Hero of Yavin or the Last Jedi Master.

She smiled sleepily at that. “Remember our wedding?”

Another laugh from Luke. “You were expecting me to say no?” he teased.

“Idiot.” Mara reached out, sending him a quick flash of her own memories. It had been one of the best days of her life, standing there with him …

… in the middle of a circle of their best and most disreputable friends, in an otherwise-deserted Irthak cantina with Hobbie Klivian acting as the officiant. Klivian's legal power to perform weddings was the relic of a Rogue Squadron undercover mission that nobody had ever been able to explain without breaking down laughing, and it was only the lack of formal paperwork that prevented virtually all the members of the Rogues from being accidentally wed to each other during several different drunken escapades, but the pilot actually took his job seriously this time and Luke and Mara had been married with a minimum of shenanigans and absolutely no politics.

They'd chosen Irthak for their elopement because it was a backwater planet with no Imperials, a minimal New Republic presence, and no bounties currently placed on anyone from Mara's side of the “guest list.” Leia and Han had shown up at the last minute, Leia somewhat annoyed and Han deeply amused by the whole business.

Fortunately, Luke's sister had understood his and Mara's decision to temporarily flee Coruscant. Once the news of their engagement had leaked, the New Republic government had essentially started planning a colossal diplomatic wedding for them as a way to save face. (Having their only Jedi Master marrying a smuggler—a smuggler who wasn't even a real Hero of the Rebellion—had ruffled some fur.) But after going through so much hell just to find and keep each other, Luke and Mara had no intention of being used to make a political statement. So they'd been married in a haphazard way that suited them best, and Leia had smoothed things over with the government.

Mara let her mind brush Luke's again, sharing the trend of her thoughts. His mental response was fond but firm: there would be no New Republic interference. Whatever happened, this was for them. She caught a brief flash of determination and a jumble of images that passed by almost too quickly for her to grasp—tabloid speculation, ugly rumors, a child raised with eyes fixed on them.

That, at least, was something they would always agree on _._ _Never._

She breathed out and let herself sink into sleep, knowing that Luke had her back.

* * *

Six hours later, Mara woke to the sound of her husband's voice in the next room and the lingering smell of burnt-out drive motivators filling the apartment.

She grimaced. Evidently, he had tried to make caf.

From the sound of the quiet conversation in the living room, Luke was on the comm with his sister. She focused on the conversation, trying to ignore the smell permeating the room.

“ … _certain it wasn't a Sith?”_

“I don't think so,” Luke was saying. “The place was definitely tainted, but it didn't feel like Exar Kun or any other Sith from the records. I think it may have been a relic of his reign, but who knows? So much of Yavin's history is still obscure.”

 _“_ _So if there was a shadow on the Force there, it was left by some_ _one_ _else_ _.”_ Even from a comm in the next room, the regret in Leia's voice was clear to Mara. _“I didn't know that was possible. Are your students safe?”_

“I believe so, yes.” Mara smiled a little wryly at that. Luke would never give an unequivocal “Yes” to a question like that, not after Kun and Kyp Durron, but he was solid in his _belief_ that his people at the Praxeum would be in no danger. He certainly wouldn't have come back early if he hadn't been. “We did our best to dispel the shadow lingering at the site. Even before we cleansed it, though, it wasn't the same as an active presence. More like a holo running on a loop.”

_“_ _What do you think caused it?”_

“I don't like to speculate.” She could hear his footsteps now, pacing across the room and back. “Despite everything the Jedi of the Old Republic knew, nobody has ever really been able to divine the entire nature of the Force. But we know Exar Kun managed to separate his spirit from his body, essentially preserving himself within the Force as a kind of … negative ghost, I suppose. And when a dark Jedi dies violently, it can leave an imprint, like the cave I encountered on Dagobah or the dark place above Endor. So perhaps someone—maybe a lot of someones—died like that at the site my students found, and it left a mark like that behind. They could have been Force-sensitive, if not trained Jedi or Sith.” He huffed out a breath. “Does that make any sense at all?”

_“It does, but I hope for all our sakes it's wrong. A lot of people die every day, Luke, and if any of them are leaving marks like that behind, your Jedi are going to start noticing it.”_

“I know. It's not much of a theory. At any rate, we cleansed it—summoning the Light Side and spreading it among us as we ploughed up the ground, trying to infuse the site with something better. It seemed to work. Now Kam and Cilghal are monitoring the situation.” A wistful note entered Luke's voice. “They did well, Leia. Really well. The minute one of the apprentices noticed the taint on the site, she told Tionne, and Tionne and Streen set up a perimeter while the others were being summoned. They analyzed what they'd found, compared their notes, checked it against the Kun records and everything they knew about dark sites, and didn't send for me until they were certain it didn't match what they'd seen before. They were competent and confident, but not reckless.”

 _“_ _You sound like a proud parent.”_ There was a teasing tone in Leia's voice, but Mara raised an eyebrow nonetheless. Just the usual sibling banter, or had Leia picked up something despite Luke's promised silence? Neither Luke nor Mara had been precisely careful with their thoughts … Mara checked the chronometer, noting with mild surprise that it was after midnight … been careful with their thoughts yesterday afternoon. And while Darth Vader's daughter might not have the sheer raw Force potential of her brother, she was infinitely subtler in her uses and methods, and her bond with Luke was strong.

If it was bait, though, Luke didn't rise to it. “I'm just relieved,” he said. “They work well together, and with the younger students. Even though I can't always be there to help, they behave like a real order of Jedi should. It's good to know that I don't have to worry about them quite so much.”

_“_ _I'm glad to hear it, Luke. Especially since the Republic still needs you.”_

“Leia …”

 _“_ _Don't worry, I won't say anything else tonight._ _You have your Jedi business to attend to, after all._ _”_ Was she smirking? It sounded like she was. _“Try to make sure you're available again by the time the New Cov delegates arrive, though. They trust you more than anyone.”_

“I'll keep it in mind. Good night, Leia.”

_“_ _Good night, Luke.”_

The comm clicked off, and Luke let out a sigh. “One time,” Mara heard him mumble. “Hasn't anyone else on that planet made a sensible decision in five years?”

“It's New Cov,” Mara called out. “Do you really have to ask?”

There was a flicker of surprise from him, followed by a wave of weary humor.. “A Jedi should not be cynical,” he responded, opening the bedroom door. “I don't know if the old Order ever made a rule about sarcasm, though, so I'll give that one a pass.”

“So generous, oh great and wise Master.” Mara got to her feet and stretched. She was pleased to note that she could actually manage to stand up this time. Luke's expression tensed as she swayed, but she gestured him to hold back. “I'm fine! Relax. Just vertigo.”

“All right,” Luke said. He remained on alert, though, as Mara walked towards him. She felt a quick twinge of irritation at that (don't tell me you're going to nanny me, Skywalker) and pushed past him into the main room.

But when she was through the door, she almost gagged again. The smell was thicker in there—burned and metallic and somehow strangely chalky, as if someone had tried to make a protein drink out of Anorran coal. Mara fought the urge to clap a hand over her nose and mouth. It wouldn't have helped anyway.

Neither Luke nor Mara were much for cooking. Their schedules rarely overlapped, and when they did, it was usually onboard ship somewhere, so their small four-room suite had only a kitchenette tacked onto one side of the living room rather than any real food prep space. Mostly it was used for Mara's endless pots of caf, Luke's secret hot chocolate stash, and the occasional impulsive nerf skewer. At the moment, though, the smell of the stuff—never very good when Luke made it, but usually drinkable—was filling the whole apartment, making Mara feel like she was being hemmed in by deep-fried Hutts. She darted past the steaming pot on the counter and, for lack of a better retreat, stuck her head into the small freezer.

“Mara?” Luke's tone of voice indicated alarm, which was fair. Tatooine wasn't exactly known for its cuisine, but Mara subsisted on an even more straightforward set of food groups: ration packs, vitamin supplements, whatever was placed in front of her as part of a mission/state appearance/survival trek, and caf. For her to actively avoid a fresh pot was unprecedented. For that matter, he'd never seen her stick her head in a freezer either.

Mara gratefully breathed in the smell of old ice and cold plastic. “I'm _fine,”_ she repeated sharply, but the words felt somewhat hollow while she was making eye contact with a frozen chunk of dewback. “Pour it out. Please. It smells like death.”

“I'm not _that_ bad at—ah.” Comprehension. A moment later, there came the welcome sound of liquid being hastily poured down the sink. Mara reached out blindly with the Force, groping for the control panel on the other side of the suite that would turn on the air cleansers, and let out a sigh of relief as she managed to touch it. The Palace had very good vent systems that were originally intended to save occupants from poison gas, and the cleansers made short work of the lingering smell. Taking a deep breath, Mara retreated from the freezer and mopped her watering eyes.

Luke took a cautious step towards her. “Are you all right?” he said carefully. Mara pushed away another surge of irritation: if she'd wanted to convince her husband that everything was all right and that he didn't need to hover, treating a common drink like poison gas wasn't the way to do it.

“I'm _fine._ Just haven't been able to stand that smell for a while.” Mara grimaced. “Dr. Javan said it's normal. The body trying to protect itself from things that might be bad for …” She waved a hand, vaguely encompassing her midsection.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Mara shook her head. “Don't you dare act nice at me now,” she said sharply. “I. Am. Fine. It'll pass.”

“Have you been back to the hospital wing yet?”

“No. I was waiting for you to come home so I could figure out what was going to happen next.” She shook her head. “And now here we are. You know, when I said I was going to be taking this out on you, I meant it. Last chance to back out, Skywalker.”

“I can take it. And you had to handle it on your own for weeks before I got back, so I'm owed a lot of taking-out already.” His expression was still concerned, but she could feel a soft ripple of affection from him. Affection and, damn it, protectiveness. Seeing her ill had him more worried than he was ever going to say out loud.

A pang touched Mara's heart. He was trying to give her space, because he already knew how much she hated being hovered over, but he still loved her and was afraid for her. Damn it. A sudden surge of emotion welled up in her throat, and she swallowed it with difficulty. (Why was she so damned _moody_ now?)

“It's okay,” she managed to say. “I waived the first two months. It's just … kreff, you don't have to …” She huffed out a breath. “I'm sorry,” she said after a moment. “Everything feels strange now.”

He gently drew her into his arms. “I can't imagine,” he murmured against her ear. “But Mara—thank you.”

Love/fear/family/guilt/need/love/guilt/family/fear, all partially-formed thoughts and feelings radiating from him despite his distracted attempts to shield them. Worry that he was forcing her to continue something that was already making her miserable. Wondering if his own mother had actually wanted children, or if he and Leia had been an accident as well. Fear that this would make her hate him, hate the child.

Sometimes she forgot just how screwed-up he was inside, too.

“I'm not putting up with this for you, Skywalker,” she growled half-heartedly into his shoulder. “Maybe I just want an apprentice I can corrupt.”

A momentary spark of amusement joined the confusion of thoughts, and Mara could feel Luke relax a little. “Jaina will be disappointed,” he said. “She already told Leia she wants to be your apprentice.”

“Jaina doesn't need me. She's Solo's kid, remember? Pre-corrupted for our convenience.”

He laughed out loud at that, and Mara closed her eyes again. She was starting to find her feet again.

She could do this.

* * *

Three weeks later …

She could do this. It would just be a little easier if one small bit of her body would just stop aching for an hour or two. 

“ It's getting on my nerves,” she said out loud, slumping back onto the cot. The hovering  2-1B medical droid  tutted sympathetically. “My breasts hurt. Why the hell do my  _breasts_ hurt? They're not even involved yet!” She scowled, plucking at the beige Jedi tunic she was wearing over her loose trousers. “ Never thought I'd actually wear this thing when I wasn't being forced to. Now all I can think is 'Oh, thank the Force, something that doesn't  _chafe.'”_

“Spoken of this before, Marajade Skywalker,” the droid said in an uncharacteristically soft, accented voice. “Body is changing. Still uncertain what is to be happening soon. Making preparations.”

“I wish it would hurry it up,” she muttered.

“This you do not want. Uncontrolled growth leads to explosion.”

There was a moment of silence as Mara and her attendant shared a look. Then Mara snorted, and the droid's optical receptors blinked in an electronic wink.

Though not many first-time visitors to the Palace medical wing realized it, the battered-looking 2-1B wasn't an ordinary droid. K'jaajavan Naaastithojuus Nak'wijaa—the closest thing a human mouth could make to her real name—was a Colofrid, a small species that had more than a little in common with fast-growing moss. They had been relatively untouched by the galaxy at large until their planet's discovery just before the Clone Wars. The Empire had taken an interest in them for a skill very few other sentients in the galaxy had mastered: the ability to form symbiotic relationships with other living things, essentially building themselves new bodies out of whatever organism they could grow into and turning it into a fully-subjugated host for themselves.

But even while Palpatine's scientists plundered Colofridi DNA for ways to turn them into weapons, the Colofrid had discovered the potential of droids. Droids could not be controlled by a Colofridi mind, but they were much hardier and stronger than any organic body, and could be modified to provide optimal nutrients. Dr. Javan, one of her species' foremost experts in human medicine (or, as they thought of it, xenobiology) had been happily partnered with the 2-1B droid for over ten years.

Luke had been skeptical when Mara told him she was going to back to Javan. It had almost led to another fight: Mara's temper remained on edge, much to her own frustration, and anything that smacked of being told not to do something would get her back up in short order. But the Colofrid had assisted pregnant humans before with no trouble and, until things got a little further along, would be perfectly capable of handling the scans and tests Mara would need.

If she was really honest, though, Mara didn't want to talk to a human doctor just yet. She kept waking up with the sensation that she was in the wrong body. Javan viewed her as an alien, and right then, Mara couldn't say that was wrong. It was strangely comforting.

Javan went over Mara's medical records and ordered another round of bloodwork. “All normal so far,” she said. “Fetus is small, but not dangerously. Development proceeds according to human standards. Data cards to give you for what to expect in the next month. When do you wish DNA testing?”

“Never,” Mara said bluntly. “I'm not exactly confused about who the father is. And Skywalkers have a bad habit of surviving everything I can throw at them, so it's probably fine for now.” She raked a hand through her hair, frowning. “I was wondering something, though. Do you have access to the records of Leia Organa Solo's pregnancies?”

The doctor's head tilted, somehow managing to make the motionless droid face convey polite surprise. “Of course I do,” she said simply. “If look I need. But show you them is not allowed.”

“I didn't think so.” Mara made a noise of frustration, halfway between a grumble and a sigh. “Look. Is there any extant literature in your host's archives of … I don't know … Old Republic Jedi stuff? What it's like to be Force-sensitive and in this, you know, condition? Preferably something that won't cause doctor/patient confidentiality problems.”

“You ask Councilor Organasolo herself,” Javan suggested. Her tone suggested that she was stating the glaringly obvious, albeit in a polite fashion. “You are sisters-in-law. She will be happy to tell all.”

“I can't. I can barely talk to _myself_ about it.”

“You must talk someday, Marajade. People notice you change.” Mara's expression must have been illustrative, because Javan let out an electronic sigh. “I will search the archives.”

“Thanks.” Mara rolled off the cot and stood up, stretching. Even those few minutes seemed to have done something to her spine; her back ached, and she had the strangest feeling that her muscles had been filled with cement. “I mean it,” she added after a moment. “I'm not … I mean, I'm grateful. I'm just on very new ground here.”

Javan shook her head. “Of course, Marajade. Common for humans to fear during a pregnancy. But Councilor Organasolo will have this information more easily for you, and within the next three months it is difficult to hide condition any longer. Please to consider what you wish.”

“I will,” Mara promised, with only a twinge of fear in her stomach.

As she left the medical wing, she was met by her bodyguard. Luke was trying to respect her wishes and not fuss over her, a plan made slightly easier by the fact that the New Republic seemed determined to bury him alive in work, but the memory of the attempts on Leia and her twins still lingered and there was really no way to stop him from worrying entirely. For the sake of their shared sanity, Mara had agreed to take unobtrusive backup along when she was out and about. Fortunately, no one could be suspicious about Mara Jade Skywalker being trailed by Luke Skywalker's astromech droid.

Artoo twittered a question as Mara stopped beside him. “No problems,” she told him. Her knowledge of droid Binary was still tentative, but Artoo had had a lot of practice speaking slowly and clearly for the sake of the humans around him. “The pain is normal, the vertigo is normal, everything bad is good.”

That got something that sounded suspiciously like an electronic snort. At least, it sounded like a snort to someone who hadn't included Binary obscenities in her language study.

Mara grinned. “You won't hear me disagreeing,” she said. “Come on, let's go check my messages. I've probably got half a dozen Senate aides waiting outside my door to complain about something Par’tah said.”

Despite the endless headaches caused by being part of the New Republic structure, Mara had to admit she enjoyed some of her work. While she still spent far too much time on Coruscant, she was still somewhat free to move about: smugglers were not usually ones to visit the shining center of the galaxy just for a chat, so Mara found herself traveling for face-to-face meetings, a secret rendezvous or two, inspecting a potential new asset's operation, and once, sitting in on the informal trial-by-peers of a former associate accused of selling out two of his satellite operators to the Imperial Remnant.

(The man had lived, but if Mara hadn't been there to play voice of reason, he probably would have escaped with even fewer limbs.)

She enjoyed the challenge of playing the game from both sides, finding ways to broker deals that both the Republic and the smugglers could benefit from … And, not incidentally, building up a healthy store of favors owed to her by both. Checking her messages could be an enormous headache, but Par'tah had been picking up a lot of work lately, and Par'tah was always good for entertaining reports. And it didn't hurt that it would be a distraction.

As she walked, she casually put out a hand to rest on Artoo's dome. In addition to being a fairly unobtrusive shadow, Artoo was just the right height for leaning on whenever the vertigo came back. She was never going to be happy about being incapacitated in any way—the Maw would spontaneously explode before that happened—but Mara had to admit, she liked a nice bit of subterfuge. Everyone knew Skywalker was one of those weird types who considered his droids part of the family, and Mara had already joked about picking up his bad habits. If she wanted to give the astromech a pat on the head while they walked, nobody would bat an eye. And if more of her weight was resting on Artoo than her posture gave away, well, that was none of their damned business.

Artoo warbled another question, this time a little more quietly. “Not a word to Luke,” she muttered back to him. “I told him it was getting better.” That drew an indignant squawk from the droid. “Like you didn't know,” Mara countered.

Artoo beeped mournfully: he never enjoyed being caught between the two of them. Still, he too knew how Luke could work himself into knots worrying about things, and after a moment's morose contemplation the droid promised to keep it to himself. For now.

Mara's office was in the same wing of the Palace normally delegated to Senatorial business, but it was crammed between two electrical closets and took up maybe half the space of a minor Senator's. She suspected it might have been an oh-so-subtle insult on the part of whoever handled the floor assignments, but she couldn't say she particularly cared. A few hours' work with Ghent, a lightsaber, and a handful of unmarked components had ensured that her office was not only jacked into virtually every system in the Palace, but that any attempts to break in through either of the electrical closets would result in a potentially fatal series of “accidents.” Mara liked her privacy.

When she arrived, though, she found a courier waiting nervously outside her door. His face wasn't familiar, and he was carrying a crate bigger than Artoo. Mara slid to a halt a few feet behind him, her hand silently falling to the lightsaber on her belt. A gentle probe of the man's mind revealed nothing but minor nervousness, _but …_

“Can I help you?” she said finally. The man jumped and almost dropped the crate. Despite its size, he handled it like it weighed almost nothing.

“Uh …” His eyes went to her, then to her hair, then to the saber hilt. “Uh. Captain Jade?”

“That's me. What do you want?”

“A delivery for you came up from central processing.” He carefully set the crate down, wiping sweaty palms on his jumpsuit. “I was told to wait here until you came to accept it personally.”

Mara didn't bother to hide her frown. “This isn't regulation,” she said. Behind her, she could hear a tiny shift in Artoo. The quiet, ever-present hum of his servos rose the merest fraction as he began powering up some of his less-standard modifications. Good for him. “I wasn't notified of any deliveries.”

“Processing said it was for the Smuggler's Alliance rep, and it was cleared by counterintel and the sabotage unit,” the man said, pointing. Indeed, there were seals stamped on the crate, showing that it had been swept for bombs, bugs, or anything else that someone unfriendly might want to sneak into New Republic headquarters. Mara's eyes narrowed: the seals looked right, but that didn't explain the courier.

She looked him up and down. Big, but not built like a stormtrooper. He held himself like someone who spent a lot of time onboard ship, with the hunched shoulders of a man used to ducking through low doors. “You're not one of the regular couriers,” she said. “Who cleared you?”

The man cleared his throat and leaned forward a little. “Senni Kiffu,” he said quietly.

That actually explained some things. Senni Kiffu had been the name Mara gave Thrawn's troopers during that last disastrous day on Myrkr. When she became the liaison for the Smuggler's Alliance, Karrde had suggested resurrecting the identity as a password. Anyone carrying it came directly from Karrde himself.

She focused on the courier again, and felt herself relax a little as the stream of this thoughts flowed through her. He _was_ nervous, but it was the nervousness of someone sent by his enigmatic boss to deliver an unknown box to a woman who was not only legendary among the smugglers, but was also now a kreffin' _Jedi_ and married to _Luke Skywalker,_ holy sith, what was he even doing here and could he go back to Ord Mantell now? Preferably before having a heart attack?

None of which explained this sudden outbreak of cloak-and-dagger activity on Karrde's part, though. Mara keyed open the office door and pointed. “Inside,” she said. “You're going to stay close while I check this thing out. Artoo, watch him.”

The droid gave out something like an electronic growl and bumped hard into the back of the courier's legs, making him squawk. Mara ignored him and manhandled the crate into the office after them. To her surprise, it was much more lightweight than she had expected; clearly it was full of _something,_ but she couldn't imagine what. Had Karrde decided to sent a message encoded in packing foam?

She got the crate levered open with no trouble, and there was indeed a short eruption of foam pellets. When she pawed through them, though, her hand hit something soft. Soft and firm. And … fuzzy.

With a groan, Mara ripped the thing out of the crate. It was a vornskr. An oversized soft toy vornskr the size of Artoo, complete with a full mouth of plush fangs and a jaunty whip tail. It had no manufacturer's mark, but she didn't expect one. The seemingly random pattern of spots on its sleek, silky fur spelled out a short message in the old Rim smugglers' dot code.

_I haven't heard that Coruscant exploded yet, so I take it congratulations ARE in order. Good to see my favorite asset is appreciating in value. More where this came from._

“Son of a Kowak-humping shtarn!” Mara snarled, dropping the toy. She had tried to convince herself Karrde would forget about his vornskrs' reaction to her. No, not forget—perhaps file it away and keep it quiet. Everything Talon Karrde knew was an asset, and if they had been enemies, she would have expected him to sell the news about her … condition … to the highest bidder by now. He was her friend, though, and evidently a friendly Karrde knew someone who could make customized plush vornskrs for the sole purpose of sending her a friendly message.

But that wasn't quite it, was it? A friendly, _pointed_ message. Karrde did nothing purely for fun, and she had no doubt that this was his way of reminding her that the word was already technically out.

(Though he'd chosen to do it by sending a toy. He was still capable of doing things _partially_ for fun.)

Mara dismissed the terrified courier and, slamming the door behind him, glared at the vornskr. Despite being rather accurate to the beasts she'd met on Myrkr, its threat was somewhat diminished by the fact that its fangs were made of soft synthweave. “I'm giving you to the Solo kids,” she informed it. “You won’t last twenty minutes with that herd of rancors.”

The vornskr didn't seem unduly bothered by that.

Kreff it. She'd been hoping to keep this under wraps a little longer. It was impossible to conceal a pregnancy forever, but she dreaded people knowing she was vulnerable. Yet … the word _was_ out. Karrde was a model of discretion, but Aves and Ghent might have let something slip, and Threepio was uncannily good at saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. It might be easier to let a few more people into the secret now, to keep any leaks under control and present a united front.

She looked down. And she had just the way to do it, too.

Humming a little, she picked up the vornskr and stuffed it back into its crate. Then she banged the lid back on, called Palace Dispatch for an authorized courier team, and scribbled out a quick note.

_Solo—_

_Karrde sent me this. There's an interesting dispatch encoded into this item. Thought you might want to have a look first. L.O.S. can know, but keep it to yourselves._

_M.J._

_* * *_

Six hours later, Mara Jade Skywalker was lying comfortably on her husband when he flinched violently, eyes opening. She grinned and rolled onto her back beside him.

“They finally got it decoded, huh?” she said.

Luke shot her a distracted look. “I thought you said you didn't want to tell Leia.”

“I said I'd handle it myself when I was ready.” She yawned. “Is she going to be lecturing you for a while?”

“Lecturing, no. More …” Luke's eyes clouded for a moment as he focused on the voice he was hearing inside his head. He laughed softly. “More like congratulatory haranguing.”

“Did the kids destroy the vornskr yet?”

“Actually, they want to keep it. She says they're fighting about what to name it right now.” Another laugh. “Leia is suggesting 'Useless Secret-Keeping Yokel Jedi Liar Who Doesn't Tell His Family Anything.'” A pause. “And she wants you to come over for breakfast tomorrow. No men allowed.”

Hmm. That didn't sound like a bad idea.

Maybe she really could do this, after all.


End file.
